A/N: Spoilers for Season 2 on from an idea from my other drabble - Me Tarzan, You Jane
I hope to perhaps have Oliver's POV in here sometime - not sure - just playing with this idea for now.
Share in my frustrations everyone! Hope you enjoy. This whole thing is a consequence of my angst.
Special thank you to SandraDeee and Kimmers
'Felicity,' he held her face in his hand, 'you'll always be my girl.'
His eyes locked with hers. She leaned into his hand a satisfied shy smile on her face.
If she could hear any words before she died, those would have been it. As it was, she definitely thought she was dreaming thanks to the crazy feel-good of Diggle's aspirin.
The Arrow walked passed her, leaving her to stare into the twinkling eyes of a bemused Diggle. Just what she needed – her aspirin supplier.
Sometime the next morning, after she woke up to the golden rays of warm sunlight streaming through her window, the events of last night came flooding back to her.
Make that the events of the last 24-48 hours.
Felicity never thought she would literally feel as though someone had set a meat cleaver upon her shoulder, let alone the way she generally felt. Heavy and weighed down with unexpected exhaustion after last night's analgesic high, she slowly turned herself toward the left hand-side to reach for her phone.
She sighed. Her right shoulder still stung.
Holding the phone in her left hand, she checked the time and for any messages she may have received overnight.
Nothing. It was 6.30am.
Someone had taken her home last night. If memory served her correctly, it was Diggle. Ever the good man, he dropped her off not before making sure she was safely in bed. Still wearing the blue shirt and bra from yesterday, she remembered briefly waking up in the middle of night to a restrictive skirt which she removed herself and kicked off to the floor.
Yesterday had been unbelievable. She managed to single-handedly seek out and stop Tockman all the while taking a bullet graze in the shoulder. Somewhere between the lair and being sewn up, she vaguely recalled sitting in her pastel blue bra, with Oliver and Diggle standing in front of her. Well, standing with their backs to her. She remembered Oliver trying not to turn around but he stood halfway between fully away from her and facing Diggle. She remembered this of course because she remarked to herself that his butt looked extra lovely tonight only to have such a view taken away from her when he presented almost profile.
When he came to face her, her shock at his knowledge of her admission to Diggle, of feeling unworthy and left out, placed her too open before him in her drugged state. She admitted to Oliver the contents of her heart and unbidden truth. That she thought she would always be his girl. Of course, she tried to course correct her mouth but she wasn't sure she completely hid her heart.
She must have said 'girl' three times because that was the only time in the whole 48 hours if not longer, when Oliver's features finally softened towards her. She had not realised it, but she bore a weight, a weight that since her 'Thea' revelation, she was walking on tip-toes around Oliver, working extra hard to not be a memory of the one who shattered his life, shattered his whole world. She truly felt awful about that, and she was not half certain that Moira's prediction was not real. That he would forever hate her. If not be unable to see her the way he once did.
Imagine her heartbeat at the surprise she felt with his words.
His girl.
It felt like more. It felt like Oliver was acknowledging his distance and firmness, his recent hard-nosed focus and compartmentalised-coping in the face of the truth of what had happened on the day Moira's candidacy was announced and what Felicity was to him, and the significance of that relationship.
Oliver, subtle in his digs towards Felicity being able to unearth secrets where Tockman was concerned, was very thinly veiled. If Felicity reacted to it, she did not let it show. Eggshells. Of the proverbial sort.
The worst part came when she was caught in her neon pink-black vest-short-exercise outfit. And what was wrong with that? Felicity had sparred before with Diggle, surely, why should what she was wearing be an oddity in the lair given her past history of working out with Diggle. His frustration, if not evident authority in his questioning her made her feel like eggshells were a thing of the past, this time, walking around avoiding broken glass was actually what she had been doing.
As she lay there in bed staring at the yellow light across her ceiling, she sighed again.
Whatever it was that had happened between them the last week, she felt like a part of her universe had been restored when he finally touched her face and met her halfway. She had Diggle to thank for that.
She pulled out the covers of her bed and padded over to the living room. Sitting on the couch, she reached out for the journal she kept in her secret place and scribbled the date and time, penning in the following words:
'Felicity, you'll always be my girl.
Bullet. Tockman. Diggles aspirin.
IT girl saves the day.
My heart is restored, for as long as I am his girl 'Wednesday' or not, something in this world remains right.'
She withdrew herself back to bed and left the leather-bound journal back on her cluttered bedside table not before taking another 'aspirin' that Diggle so kindly left behind. She soon found herself softly sleeping for a few more hours, dreaming dreams of being his girl with her own new nickname.
'Watchtower…' he called her and Felicity smiled.